Dear Margaret: Year One
by anticipating.the.call
Summary: A half-blooded young witch named Margaret begins school at Hogwarts with high hopes, a black-sheep brother, and a prejudiced new friend. Can she break the mold in which Draco Malfoy was raised? Or will she just have to put up with his slurs?
1. Eating Mum's Flowers

**I only own Margaret and her relatives. Harry Potter and his cohorts, however, are of the J.K. Rowling persuasion. That won't change any time soon, no matter how many times I wail on about it. **

* * *

It was a miserable summer, that of '91. I sat on my family's living room rug as I prevented the continual sweat that ran down my forehead. The air conditioner had run out and the entire house seemed to be cooking. The pair of shorts I was once wearing lay on the table lamp next to the sofa and my shirt began to stick to my body uncomfortably. I was home alone, so it wasn't like my brother would walk in and tell my mother all about it, who, in turn, would reprimand me for trying to cool myself off in such a manner. I didn't want to be so bloody hot. But if I threw that excuse at her, I'd get my lips literally sealed for the rest of the week. My mother was null on the matter of using magic around the house being considered as lazy. She merely said it was convenient. In fear of what she could really do, I suspect, my muggle father has told her many times before that she should keep it to herself once in a while.

The television in front of me was blaring about the mysterious tagging incidents that had occurred along Wombat Avenue earlier this week as my breathing slowly returned to normal. First of all, the television should never have been out, but my Muggle friend Julie was over for a few hours, and it was necessary to at least look normal in the presence of her lot. She had left just a couple minutes ago, and that's how I ended up trouser-less. It felt nice, but it wouldn't last too long since my father would be getting home from his job at the Law Offices of Grenadine & Scotch within the hour. Second, I don't know why I bothered watching it when I really had no interest in how these occurrences could be linked to the required membership rituals of a notorious local gang, the "Panther Warriors". Actually, I really had no interest in television, but with the godforsaken heat inhabiting the rest of the world, I was better off beside the pine tea table than outside having a go at my Brother Jonathan's cat, Wrigley. He'd thrown this gigantic fit for the grotesquely matted thing five years ago, and whatever my brother wants, my brother gets.

What a funny one my brother is. He has all these friends at his school and yet he hasn't put up a fight about moving to Dover. It's ridiculous! It's like he's arguing with my parents through me, with the way he convinces me about how miserable moving would be. The only thing keeping me from starting to bargain my sanity with my parents is that I'm still going to the same school. I'd just be living two hundred miles from where my birth home is now, and that is what makes me so angry about moving.

"Magpie," my father called. His voice snapped me from my thoughts and hit me with the realization that I was still in my underwear and a t-shirt in between the couch and television. I rushed to grab my shorts from the lamp and, in one swift move, slipped them on.

"Hi Dad," I replied.

He didn't come into the living room so I assumed that he had gone into the kitchen. I decided to join him because there was nothing better to do.

"Maggie," he greeted as I walked in.

"Dad," I replied jubilantly.

"Your mum wants me to talk to you about us moving to Dover," he said. My face fell from a painting of giddy bliss to a state of perpetual annoyance. "I know," he said, noticing that my mood had plummeted. "But it's all for the best. This house is getting old. Remember that it's been here for centuries, Margaret." He only used my real name when he was lecturing me or yelling at me. I nodded as he continued. "We just wanted to give you, your brother, and your sister the best life out there. As noble as this house is, we just can't live here anymore. It's time to venture out into England, to see what we've been missing."

"Dad," I pointed out. "We live in England. There's not much to discover, now, is there?"

"I meant the better part of it," he explained.

"The better part?" He must--- simply must be joking! "The better part of England? Really? The average suburbs that cover most of England are better than the outback feeling of wilderness in your backyard?"

"It's isolation, Margaret," he said. "It's not normal to have a forest in your backyard---"

"But it's pretty special, isn't it?"

I turned and stalked off to my room, where I looked through the window and watched a couple trees swaying together in sync. It was magnificent, and I'd miss it so much. It's not going to be easy moving, as I've told the rest of the household, but they simply won't listen.

A few minutes later, I heard a timid knock on my door. "Come in," I said in a raspy voice, as I had been tearing up a bit since my argument with dad.

The door opened and in walked my little sister, Natalie, who had her sleeping bag slung over her left shoulder and an old, red rucksack in her right hand. "Hey, Maggie," she greeted.

"Hey, Tulip," I replied. It was what my brother and I have called her ever since we found her in our backyard with mom's precious garden of lavender tulips torn from the ground, sitting in Tulip's mouth as she grabbed them by the fistfuls when she was three. "When did you get home?"

"Oh," she said, glancing at her rucksack. She had slept over her friend Gwen's house the night before, as a going-away party. "Gwen's mum wanted her to go shopping, so she dropped me off a bit early." She sighed. "I guess I'll have to live with that being my last time seeing her."

"I'm sorry, Tule," I said sympathetically. "I had to tell Julie we were moving today. It was horrible."

"I suppose we should start building up hope for the future, though," she said. Despite her small frame, which she had acquired from my father, she was very intelligent, and wise beyond my level of aging. I was eleven, and she was eight. Yet she managed to beat me in every argument we've ever had since she could talk. It's pretty pathetic if you think about it. So I haven't bothered arguing with her in over seven months...

"What should we hope for?" I asked.

"Better people," she replied. "The ones here are completely dull. It's making me restless."

"I hear you," I chuckled. "But it doesn't make up for leaving this house behind."

Tulip nodded. "Yeah. Remember when dad had that tire roped to the tree a couple years ago?" I laughed aloud and nodded knowingly as I reminisced.

"It was dangerous," I said. "And when Wrigley got caught in a ditch by the tool shed?"  
Tulip giggled and covered her mouth lightly with her hand. Then she took a step out of my room and looked up and down the hallway. She turned back to me and furrowed her eyebrows. "Where is that thing anyway?" You see, no one really liked Wrigley aside from Jon. Honestly, I have no idea why. That cat is pure evil, if you ask me.

"No idea," I answered. "But if it got ran over, could we keep it as a pro of moving?" Tulip's eyes widened as she playfully hit my arm. I laughed, which in turn made her laugh as well.


	2. Too Early for Mum's Taste

**I only own Margaret and her relatives. Harry Potter and his cohorts, however, are of the J.K. Rowling persuasion. That won't change any time soon, no matter how many times I wail on about it. **

* * *

The rest of the next couple of hours was spent reminiscing and remembering all the stupid little things that we'd miss after moving. After talking about the rat we found in the attic last year (eventually to show our screaming mother), Jonathan arrived home with Mum from Diagon Alley. Of course, the only way Tulip and I heard was Jon's announcement. I rolled my eyes and turned my head to Tulip before we both got up at the same time and headed downstairs.

"Maggie," my mum started. "Jon picked out a birthday present for you while we got him some new robes for the school year." She sounded a bit distant and occupied as she moved everything around in the kitchen, making sure we only had the necessities out. We'd packed a couple days earlier to be prepared for the dreaded day of tomorrow.

"Oh?" I said.

"Yeah," Jon chimed. "I hope you like it, Mags."

"Me too," I said sarcastically. To show him I meant no harm, though, I shot Jonathan a reassuring smile. Why? Because that's what siblings do. We tear the mickey out of each other before we put our life on the line to save them from utter humiliation. It's what I had to do four years ago when Jon peed himself in front of the girl he liked. I was seven, but, boy, did I talk to that girl like I was lawyer. It was as though I was defending my nine year old brother against the charges of taking another boy's blanket in a court of kiddy law. Of course, it was no easy case. All the same, I knew that if I saved him from his shame at the time, he'd owe me one in the future. I was a smart kid (though not nearly as much of one as Tulip), so don't doubt it.

"Did you want to open it now?" Mum asked. I was taken aback.

My birthday wasn't until tomorrow, and she was very proper on the subject of birthdays. That meant I shouldn't have been able to receive what Jon had gotten me until my actual birthday. But when she looked over at me with concern at my lack of a reply, I nodded my head slightly and said, "Sure."

Jonathan quickly walked over to the table excitedly and took from it a big box with holes carved out of it. I heard scratching from within it, and started mentally praying that it wasn't a cat. One devil kitten was enough around here. I took the box from his hands hesitantly and felt it was heavier than he led on it was. I struggled to keep the box up, so I placed it on the ground slowly. My hands slowly worked their way around the box, opening it up without my consent, and I was greeted with delighted hooting. I saw a brass cage and a gray owl inside of it. A smile spread across my face and I could no longer hold my excitement, I swiftly took the cage from the box and held up my new owl. "What is it?" I asked with a curiously joyful expression on my face.

"An owl," Jon said slowly, as though he thought I was stupid.

"No," I retorted. "Is it a girl?"

"I think it might be a boy," he said.

"Might?" I asked.

"It is," Mum cut in. "I know how you don't like female pets. I blushed, remembering how I accidentally let my lizard, Jane, die a few years ago followed by my poor frog, Lisa. Male creatures just appeal to me, for some reason. They're friendlier.

"Do I get to name him?" I asked skeptically.

"Well," Jonathan said. "Did you want me to name him?"

I scoffed. "Not after Wrigley."

Jonathan scowled and crossed his arms, causing the corners of my lips to lift themselves into a smile. I looked back to the owl that hooted happily in his cage, bouncing on his perch. I placed the cage gently on the ground and looked into my new owl's big, round eyes, which were an unnaturally light, blue color. Mesmerized, I couldn't bring myself to think of a name. My mind went blank as he hooted, and it sounded like he was hooting to me in particular. A smile broke my face unconsciously and I began to slowly reach my hand to him. He looked at my hand hesitantly and began to back away, hissing lightly. With that, I took my hand back out and began to 'tut', to show I meant no harm. He merely blinked, which made my smile grow with amusement. I tried again to reach my owl, and was successful, yet only just. He backed away again, but I persisted with my hand's journey to its feathers. He eventually let me stroke him, and he realized that the feeling was something he could get used to. I giggled lightly and continued to pet him as my mother cleared her throat. I looked up and she said, "What's his name?"

"I haven't thought of it yet," I said truthfully.

"What about Quincy?" I looked to Tulip and furrowed my eyebrows together.

"What?" I asked.

"Quincy!" She was looking at my owl rather than me.

"No," I said, shaking my head slightly while laughing.

"Then you think of something!" Tulip lifted her chin up at me and I rolled my eyes.

I looked back to my owl and scanned his feathers, searching for any specific markings that could lead me to find a name. "Alright," I said, replying to Tulip. Then my eyes stopped their search and landed on a black spot that he seemed to show me as he spread his wings. It looked like a spade in some way, but I wasn't about to name him Spade. _Maybe the symbol means something_, I thought. _It could mark him as a royal bird, or something_. _Royal_, _like a prince…_


	3. A Prince in Dover

**I only own Margaret and her relatives. Harry Potter and his cohorts, however, are of the J.K. Rowling persuasion. That won't change any time soon, no matter how many times I wail on about it. **

* * *

"Prince," I said aloud. "His name's Prince."

"Prince?" My brother sounded confused.

"It's better than Wrigley," I retorted. He stuck his tongue out at me because we both knew it was all in good fun.

"I don't deny that," said Dad. I looked over my shoulder at him to see him walking in with two teacups in his hand. He strode over to my mother and handed her one, kissing her forehead before giving an eye-crinkling smile to me. "How d'you like him?"

"I love him!" I said excitedly.

"Well that's good," Dad assured.

For a few seconds, we all gazed at my lovely new owl. Then Mum seemed to snap out of our cozy family moment. "Oh!" she said. "I've got to get to the Ministry to settle the address change for good! I completely forgot! I'm so sorry, dear." She kissed my father's cheek swiftly and handed him her cup of tea. "I'll be back soon!" She picked up her purse distractedly and looked around frantically. "Where's my robe?"

"You're wearing it," Tulip piped, not really fazed by Mum's oddness.

"Of course!" she breathed after looking down at herself. She rushed over to the fireplace and took some floo powder in her hand. "Well, goodbye!"

The fireplace erupted in vibrant green flames as they overtook her. We all watched the place from where she disappeared for a few moments before Dad cleared his throat. "Well now," he said, the two teacups still in his grasp. "It seems as though we're going to have to make dinner by ourselves."

With no adult wizard in the home, it was true, and I absolutely hated cooking without magic. Mum always left the carrots chopping and the broth stewing with a flick of her wand before playing a game of Exploding Snap with Jon and me. Dad always left me chopping the carrots while the broth boiled over the pot as he struggled to catch Jon while he ran around the house screaming. At least he always wore Mum's floral apron.

The following morning, I felt a sudden jolt on my bed. When I opened my eyes and shot up straight, I was greeted with Tulip jumping on my bed, a huge smile on her face. "Happy birthday, Maggie!"

Jonathan appeared in my doorway with his hair sticking up in every which-way, his eyes still looking droopy from the sleep he had presumably just awoken from. "Whahappun?" He could barely see us through his squinted eyes.

"Morning, Jon," I greeted with a smile.

"Morning," he mumbled sleepily. He looked from me, to Tulip, back to me, and then to Tulip again, before he realized what day it was. He didn't seem too excited, though. "Happy birthday," he said quietly, rubbing his eyes and walking back out the door. I quickly looked to Tulip, finding her looking back at me, and we both laughed. When she sat down on the bed, she moved next to me and hugged me. I hugged her back, though I was confused as to why she was hugging me.

"I love you, Maggie," she mumbled into my sleeve. I smiled and looked down at her.

"I love you, too, Tule," I replied.

"I don't want to move," she said.

I froze. What was I supposed to say to her? It's not like agreeing with her would make anything better. I sighed. "Me neither," I said. There was nothing else I could say.

At that moment, Dad opened the door and held up a cupcake on a plate with ice cream. "Happy birthday, Magpie," he smiled. He walked in and was followed by Mum, who had a small, golden gift bag in her hand. They all sat on my bed as Dad handed me the cupcake and Mum set down the bag next to me on the night stand. I happily ate my cupcake as they sang me 'Happy Birthday',

"Open the bag," Mum smiled. I looked to it and took it on my lap, curiosity overwhelming me. I basically ripped out the red tissue paper and dug my hand into the bag to find a golden chain necklace, a ridiculously large, red heart dangling from it. My jaw dropped in amazement as the ruby that the heart was made of glimmered in the morning light that shone through my window. "Wow," I breathed.

"We got it for you to wear when you make Gryffindor," Mum beamed. "We know you'll make us proud. Everyone in our family's been in it for centuries… well, exempting your brother, of course… And there's no doubt in my mind that you'll be the brightest yet." Dad wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. I beamed and folded the necklace back in some tissue paper. The rest of the morning was spent packing our belongings in the rental van that Dad had acquired.


	4. Bloody Neighbors

**I only own Margaret and her relatives. Harry Potter and his cohorts, however, are of the J.K. Rowling persuasion. That won't change any time soon, no matter how many times I wail on about it. **

* * *

"I don't know why they're making us do this."

Everything was unpacked by the next day and Mum and Dad thought it'd be nice to bake our new neighbors a lovely peach cobbler. Honestly. They also thought it'd be better to send over the innocent children.

As I knocked on the door with Tulip by my side holding the peach cobbler, the pigtails in my hair were begging to become a nuisance. I tugged at them to make them even, but it was as though Mum had charmed them to stay put. Then my scalp began to itch, as they always did when I was nervous. It had been a good minute before I received no reply.

"Maybe they didn't hear us," Tulip suggested.

I shrugged and knocked again, louder this time. Another thirty seconds passed before I began to get impatient. I banged my palms on the door and contorted my face to make me knock harder, as though it would work.

After that attempt, no one answered, so I led the way back to the house, Tulip following. "Bloody neighbors," I grumbled. "We make them pie and they don't even have the decency to greet us."  
I stomped up the steps to the mansion that was now our home and swung open the door. "Dad!" I called. On cue, my father's face appeared from behind the kitchen archway, which was straight ahead from the door.

"Yes?" He replied.

"The neighbors weren't home," Tulip explained, setting the cobbler down on the table to the left of the archway. Dad's eyebrows furrowed. "Not home?" He ran over what Tulip said as though it wasn't believable. "Surely, they are! I saw them go in this morning, and I haven't heard any activity outside."

"Maybe you'd be able to hear if this bleeding house wasn't so huge," I muttered. He didn't hear me, thankfully, and instead set down the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. He took the cobbler from the other table and set off toward the door. "Maggie! Natalie! Come with me."

I rolled my eyes and stomped back to the door, following an eager Tulip. When we reached their house again, Dad handed Tulip the cobbler and knocked. Within moments, the door opened and revealed a small house elf wearing a rag that looked dirtier than the one in his hand. Because he was still getting used to all that the magical world had to offer, Dad started. "Oh!"

"Miss Wallace?" The tiny thing had a squeaky voice to match its size, its big, green eyes staring at me.

"Er… yes," I confirmed, my eyebrows furrowed.

"Master Lucius thought so!" the house elf said brightly.

"Sorry?"

"Master Lucius says Miss Wallace looks just like Mrs. Wallace," he said.

"He knew my mother?"

"Indeed, Miss Wallace!"

I blushed. "Please," I assured him, "call me Maggie."

"Do come in, Miss Maggie!" And he stepped aside. I led the way into the gigantic residence hesitantly, looking back at Tulip and my father to gesture for them to follow. I assumed they were invited inside, as well. Dad grabbed a hold of Tulip's hand and followed.

The small elf closed the door behind us and said, "Terribly sorry, Miss Maggie. Master Draco thought young misses were Muggles." I couldn't do anything but smile at the poor thing.

"It's nothing, really," I said. "So, who are your masters exactly?"

"Master Lucius, Master Draco, and Mistress Narcissa," the small elf answered.

"And what's your name?" I asked. It was as though my family was mute… or unwelcome…

"Oh!" the elf gasped. "Miss Maggie must receive Dobby's apologies! How rude of Dobby!" He then proceeded to grab the fire poker that sat idle by the fireplace and bashing his knees with it. "Bad Dobby!" he cried.

"No!" I exclaimed, rushing over to grab the poker. The little bugger put up a fight, I must say, but I ended the struggle by wrenching it from his fingers. When I looked back at my family, Dad's eyes were as wide as quaffles and Tulip's mouth was agape. I exhaled and joined them, the poker still in my hand. Dobby stood where he'd just beaten himself and sobbed as a tall figure swept into the room accompanied by another that only looked a bit taller than me.

"Stop this nonsense, Dobby!" the man hissed. His platinum blonde hair was long and sweeping as his face contorted to become suave. "Welcome to my home."

"It's nice to meet our new neighbors!" Dad finally piped brightly, stretching out his hand. "I'm Harold Wallace."

"Cynthia's husband, I expect?" the man inquired coldly.

"Why, yes," Dad confirmed in a slightly quivering voice, his hand still outstretched.

"Lucius Malfoy," he introduced, not taking my father's hand. Instead, he looked at it as though it had not met his expectations. "This is my son, Draco." His hand found the shoulder of the boy that was only a bit hidden by his father. Their hair only differed in length and style, as Draco's hair was slicked back. In fact, his pointed face reminded me of the man that stood at almost twice his height.

"I'm Natalie!" Tulip greeted jubilantly, bringing her hand up in a small wave.

Draco's eyes found my sister's and brightened. "Hello, Natalie," he said hoarsely. It was as though his voice hadn't been used so enthusiastically in a while.

"My name's Margaret," I joined. "Call me anything but that."

Draco smiled and said, "Hi."

"That's quite a… er… little man you've got here," Dad chuckled uncertainly, gesturing to Dobby.

"He's hardly a being," Lucius sneered, looking down at his house elf.

"I disagree," my father said, his bravery heightening a notch. "He's only a bit dirty, but with some soap and water, I'm sure—"

"You're a Muggle, aren't you?" Lucius queried, sounding amusedly cruel.

"Y-yes," Dad stuttered. "But that's hardly—"

"I should have guessed." Lucius let his eyelids hang halfway in a way that stated he no longer wished to be in the presence of my father.

I frowned. "How d'you know my mum?" I demanded.

"My, my," Lucius said curiously. "So eager for knowledge."

"Only when it deals with pr—" Tulip's hand concealed my mouth with both her hands and cleared her throat daintily.

"Excuse me?" Lucius asked icily.

"She means well, sir," Tulip spoke for me. I would've done it myself if her hand wasn't sweating all over my lips. "She's very curious."

"Your mother was a dear friend of mine when we were in school," Lucius said, ignoring my sister and boring his gray eyes into my own russet ones. "It's a shame we've lost contact." He turned to my father and looked at him like he was a joke. "Where is Cynthia nowadays?"

"She's at the Ministry at the moment," Dad said. I noticed his teeth clench when he finished speaking.

"That's too bad," Lucius sighed. "I would have loved to see her."

"Where's your mum?" I asked Draco, pointedly paying no attention to his father.

"I don't know," he replied. Then he looked down at Dobby. "Where's my mother?" His voice was cold and not at all endearing to the trembling creature.

"Mistress Narcissa may be in her quarters," Dobby squeaked.

"Useless," Lucius whispered, glaring at poor Dobby.

"Would you like to play Quidditch?" Draco asked Tulip and me with a seemingly rare happiness.

Before I could answer, Dad clutched both my sister and me by our shoulders and pulled us closer to him. "I'm afraid we'll have to leave. Natalie, give Lucius the cobbler your mother made."

Tulip grinned apologetically and handed the peach cobbler over to Lucius, who gestured to Dobby to take it instead. Dad frowned. "Give Cynthia my regards," he told my father, an eyebrow raised on his pale face.

"Bye!" Tulip directed at Draco.

"Goodbye," he returned.

"Here's your poker," I said, embarrassed as I handed Draco the instrument I'd taken from Dobby.

"Thanks," he murmured, his eyebrows knitted.

When we were outside, courtesy of Dad's slight shoving, I turned my head to Tulip. "He was nice," I said.

"Who is?" Dad asked incredulously.

"Draco," I said cautiously.

"I'll have to talk to your mother when she gets back," he said to no one in particular, skipping over my answer.

Tulip threw me a confused look; I shook my head.


	5. Carnivore

**I only own Margaret and her relatives. Harry Potter and his cohorts, however, are of the J.K. Rowling persuasion. That won't change any time soon, no matter how many times I wail on about it. **

* * *

"Maggie! Get down here!"

I clenched my eyes shut in an attempt to block out my brother's demand. It was eight o'clock, I expect, and I'm no good before eleven. In any case, I calculated the probability of my brother running up the stairs within the time that I'd fall back asleep, and the chances were slim in my state of drowsiness.

Then I heard a rather unwelcome tapping on my door. "Maggie?" said a softer voice, obviously belonging to my sister.

"Mmph…" I grunted into my pillow.

"Breakfast is ready," her muffled voice continued, "and I smell bacon."

Tulip knew her tactics well because my eyes flew open _just_ sooner than my body could roll over to the edge of the bed, letting my feet hit the ground with a thump. If there was anyone on this planet that would be an even worse candidate for vegetarianism than I'd be, I have yet to meet this foe.

As I threw open the door in my fit of savage hunger, Tulip backed into the wall, sincerely (and depressingly) expecting me to catapult myself down the flight of steps toward the meat that now sizzled succulently within the metal casing of the oven in Mum's kitchen. What's worse is that I did just that.

I sat myself next to Jon, whose face looked sour as my mother set down a plate of toast topped with fried tomatoes in front of the both of us. "I've told you a million times, Mum," he grumbled, "I don't like tomatoes."

"Have you?" Mum considered. "Sorry, darling. Just give your plate to Natalie, then."

He passed the plate across the table to Tulip, who was just beginning to sit down. I looked over to my father, who sat at the end of the table to my right. He was completely blocked from my view by an open, Muggle newspaper that he clutched in his hands. The two plates in front of him were already licked clean.

"Thanks for waiting, Dad," I laughed.

He narrowed his eyes over the paper. "You can't blooming expect a grown man to sit idly by and ignore a plate of steaming hot breakfast that is put in front of him."

"I hear you," I sighed, puffing up chest and patting my belly. Dad chuckled and went back to his paper.

"I don't understand why you have to read those bloody papers," Jon said harshly, suddenly. "It's embarrassing."

"I'm afraid of an aneurism coming on if I was to read below pictures of moving people," Dad explained. "Remember that I'm not magic."

"Muggle newspapers should be banned from wizarding houses, I say," Jon said to the whole table, as though his opinion meant something. "It's high time you cancelled your subscription and accepted that you look like a prat in this house."

I froze mid-bite in my toast. Tulip looked between Jon and Dad, expecting the latter to blow up. Instead, Mum gasped dramatically. "Who taught you to speak like that to your father?" she demanded, a tray of several bacon slices in her hands (unfortunately just beyond my reach).

"He's been over to the Malfoy's nearly every time Maggie and I have visited," said Tulip, who thoroughly avoided any eye contact with her family.

"And do the Malfoys talk to each other like that?" Mum asked, her voice becoming a bit gentler.

"Sort of," I answered hesitantly. "They don't like Dad's sort."

"Then you're not allowed over anymore," Mum said, a sense of finality in her tone.

"What?" I whined. "No! I like going over to see Draco! He said he'd save me a seat on the train to Hogwarts!"

"I guess you'll just have to find another compartment, then, won't you?" Mum offered strictly.

"But he's my friend, Mum!" I retorted. "Didn't you say that you didn't care who I befriended because we're all the same?"

"Obviously that boy and his family think different," spat Dad, whose face was stony until that point.

"That doesn't make him a bad person!" I reasoned. "Tulip, doesn't he make sure we have fun at his house? I mean, his mum practically babysits us when you two are at work!"

"Yeah, Mum!" Tulip joined. "We play Quidditch, and Exploding Snap, and Wizard's Chess!"

"And Gobstones!" I added quickly.

"And Lucius is so cool!" Jon pleaded as though he'd reverted to my age.

Mum sighed. "I'll have to have a talk with Lucius about all this," she said. "When I decide to stick to my guns, I expect you all to never complain about it again!"

I exhaled gratefully and began to pile my plate with the strips of bacon that had been tempting me ever since Mum brought them out of the oven.


End file.
